Just A Bump On The Head
by girl in the glen
Summary: A bump on Napoleon's head and a very determined secretary add to the mix up involving some
1. Chapter 1

Illya Kuryakin was alarmed to find his partner sprawled on the floor of the basement computer control room. Being below ground it also had numerous pipes running at various angles and heights.

"Napoleon...Napoleon...what happened?" The CEA was less than his normally elegant self as he roused from the apparent run-in with one of the big pipes. Or so it seemed.

"I'm not sure...ouch! My head...what happened?"

"That's what I asked you. Judging by the proximity of this metal pipe, and the bump on your forehead, I would guess that you did not duck when it swung at you". There was an incorrigible grin spreading across the Russian's face, and Napoleon thought it inconsiderate of him to find the situation humorous.

"It hurts. Must be a Thrush plot to disable me". The Russian was concerned, but equally curious about how it had happened. "No doubt. The enemy ambushed you right here at headquarters". The grin was fading, and Illya wondered aloud if they should head for medical. It had knocked his partner unconscious, after all.

"Let's go upstairs and get you checked out. It wouldn't do for you to succumb to a concussion. Plus, you could use some ice on that bump".

"Illya..."

"Yes Napoleon"...He knew what was coming. "Can we keep this quiet...I mean, the fact that I ran into this and knocked myself out. It doesn't seem appropriate for the CEA to go down for the count to an inanimate piece of metal". The brown eyes looked imploringly at his partner, hoping for some little bit of sympathy.

"And how do you plan to explain this? You do have a bump on your head, and there are no enemy agents here to blame. And, you can't say that I did it". He added the last part emphatically.

"Umm...well...I don't know. Maybe we just skip medical and go for an ice pack. Really, I'm fine, and you can keep me awake by reading science journals...no that will put me to sleep. Direct me to a secretary. Then I'll have to concentrate on being charming."

"You really are incorrigible, you know that". The blond rolled his eyes and went in search of ice while his partner went in search of girls.

Later that day while surrounded by women in the canteen, a surplus of oohing and aahing could be heard as Illya passed his partner en route to his favorite corner table. "Napoleon, how ever did you escape from the brute?" Concern oozed from the redhead's lips as she tenderly touched the purplish bump on the CEA's broad forehead.

"I..uh...was able to fend off the attack before he could do any more damage. All part of the job, Denise". The smile overtook his handsome features as well as the assembled females. They all responded in kind, deeply appreciative of the bravery and deftness required to be so completely capable. It was just so...Napoleon.

Kuryakin could only shake his head in disbelief. Only Napoleon Solo could turn a mishap with an iron pipe into a spy thriller.

"So, I see you've concocted a story to cover your earlier mishap with the basement". Illya smirked into his coffee as his partner approached. "Shhh...it's just a little cover story for that...incident. Keep your mouth shut and we can live happily ever after, tovarisch".

"Yes, that is what I desire. An eternity filled with covering for you so that you can be a hero. You, my friend, are a compulsive flirt and a menace to my mental health. I will keep quiet about this, but it will cost you...someday". With that statement, the Russian menace got up and left the canteen, his partner wondering how the debt would be collected.

Just days later, in a Thrush cell somewhere in New York City, Napoleon sat stiff backed against a concrete block wall. His partner was still being interrogated about the microfilm he had managed to liberate from a Thrush courier earlier in the day. The fact that they had both been picked up and brought here was still a mystery, but somehow the Thrush grunts had picked him out of a crowd as he waited for his partner. So, here he sat once again, waiting to see what shape Illya would be in when they brought him back. He hoped for the best, which would have to be less damage rather than more, in this case. There was no doubting the UNCLE agent would sustain a stubborn refusal to give up the microfilm, so it remained to be seen the level of frustration that would appear in the subsequent brutality. The agent gave an involuntary shudder when he considered some of the methods they might use on his friend.

He didn't have to wait very long to see the results. The door opened and two guards tossed the blond agent into the cell, just within reach of Napoleon's grasp. He caught the limp body before it crashed to the floor, easing him down as he took a quick inventory of the situation.

"Illya, how bad is it?" His left shirt sleeve was cut open, revealing needle marks and imminent bruising in their wake. The right eye was swollen shut, a thin dribble of blood from a cut on his lip. Someone had ripped the white shirt open, losing a few buttons in the process. The purpose was visible in the welts across Illya's chest, from something electrical possibly. Napoleon couldn't be sure of that; he was certain that his friend was in some pain though, and still groggy from the drugs that had been administered. Damn, he hated it when this happened. His only consolation was the homing device he had activated. The guards hadn't done a very good job searching Napoleon, probably due to their interest in his partner. He still had the little gadget attached to his suit coat, and figured someone should be coming around to check on them soon. For Illya's sake, very soon, he hoped.

Before Illya had come around from his drug induced stupor, the rescue materialized. Napoleon could hear noise beyond their cell that sounded like alarms being raised. Yelling and gunshots, a small explosion and the smell of something like licorice resounded in his senses as he shifted the still unconscious Russian from his lap and onto the floor. He went to the door to get a glimpse of the action, and was met with the worried countenance of Mark Slate. Nothing like the cavalry arriving just in the nick of time.

"Hey mate...whatcha got for us?" Mark took a look at Illya and sighed...

"Again?" How many times had they found the Russian crumpled on the floor of a Thrush cell, with Napoleon looking on as though merely observing the scene? He still didn't know if it was good luck for one or back luck for the other. Either way, Illya seemed to get the worst end of the deal...through no fault of his partner.

"Yeah, let's get him up...gently. I don't know what all they did to him". Napoleon's concern was etched in his face as well as his voice as he and Mark lifted the stricken agent up and carried him outside to more UNCLE agents. Safely inside a vehicle they made a straight line for headquarters, alerting medical that the Russian was in need of repair once again.

During the course of waiting for his partner to regain consciousness, Napoleon had showered and changed clothes; he had also managed to write a preliminary report on their ordeal. It was well into day number two before the blond woke up and was greeted by his friend.

"Hey sunshine. Are you all done with your beauty sleep?" Napoleon was waiting beside Illya's bed, watching for signs of consciousness and hoping there was nothing to merit more concern. As the blue eyes opened, cautiously at first and then full of recognition, he breathed a little easier at his partner's return from the Thrush torment.

"Napoleon...how long?" Always the first question, no matter what the affliction. How long...

"Just about 20 hours, give or take a few minutes. I don't know what they put in your blood stream, but it really knocked you out. Well, that and some physical bumps and bruises". Nothing he couldn't get over.

"Mmmm...yeah, remember some of that. Microfilm?" He knew he had taken it, but right now he couldn't remember where it had ended up.

"You never told me where you put it...didn't have a chance. I don't have a clue where it is. Don't you?" The role of CEA took over now, needing to know where the valuable film had gotten to, since he doubted that Illya had given it back to Thrush.

"I can't...remember. Where did you find me?" Now Napoleon was more concerned. Illya didn't remember him being in the cell with him. How far back was the memory loss, he wondered.

"Illya, I was in the cell with you. They picked me up at the drop site, only they already had you. Don't you remember any of it?" Confusion was evident in the blond's expression. His head fell back on the pillow in a gesture of frustration, his eyes shut tight against the invading light. His head was throbbing now, and he desperately wanted to be left alone. Except, he needed to remember. Napoleon recognized the signs of withdrawal, the evidence of pain that was now visible on his friend's face. 'We're not done with this, yet' He inwardly groaned at this new development.

"Illya, go back to sleep. Do you need something for the pain?" A nod was the reply. All of the man's color had drained from his face as he tried to meld his body into the sheets, disappear and thus eliminate the pain and the confusion. Why couldn't he remember? His sense of duty was in conflict with a defiant need for self-preservation. A nurse came in with some pain medication and a sedative; he took the former while she added the sedative to his IV line. The effect was quick and he began to show signs of slipping back into a deep sleep.

"Napoleon...' Brown eyes were shadowed by the furrow of his brows, a crease indicating his apprehension..."remember that bump you got, when you ran into the beam?" Why was he bringing this up now?

"Yes...I remember you said I'd have to pay for your silence'... A slight grin emerged as the older man remembered the cagey smile that his partner had shot him as he assured that payment would come, eventually. "Why do you ask?"

"I think that perhaps now is a good time to recall that...I ..."

And then he was out.

"What, Illya?" Frustration was on a countdown, and now he had to wait until his partner woke up again. Where was the microfilm, and why was he calling in the frivolous debt they had brokered?


	2. Chapter 2

Napoleon headed back to his office. He needed to go over every detail of his and Illya's actions; where the courier had been intercepted and where Illya had gone afterwards. Napoleon had been prepared to meet him and continue on with the microfilm. They had decided a hand off would complicate the chase for the opposition, and so he had been at the appointed location at just the moment his partner should have appeared. Instead he was ambushed by some Thrush goons who had managed, with some difficulty, to knock him out and get him into a waiting car. He had come around groggily in that cell while Illya watched him. Sometime later the same guys had come and collected the Russian, taking him to the appointment from which he was now recovering.

In all of that, there had been no discussion concerning the microfilm, nor any hints as to it's whereabouts. He hadn't been able to talk with his partner in order to ascertain what his movements had been prior to being picked up by the Thrush, so...he knew nothing. No clues, no trail...nothing to help him recover the microfilm.

He decided to call in Mark Slate; possibly there was some other intel out there about the events surrounding this mishap. The microfilm had information on it concerning a new Thrush Satrapy in New York City. The location was a well kept secret and the film was purportedly a blueprint for the building. UNCLE knew that the criminal organization owned several successful businesses in the city, including one very prominent construction company. They had gotten the word about transferring those files via courier, and so Illya had been assigned to intercept him at the airport before he boarded a plan for France. Apparently nothing was done without Central's approval, including building a new headquarters for North America.

Illya had easily overtaken the courier, obtaining the microfilm and stashing the tranquilized man in a janitor's storeroom. He had then left the terminal, caught a bus to Radio City Music Hall; they would appear to be buying tickets for a performance. But Illya had never shown up, and Napoleon had been taken while he waited. None of this made it easier to try and figure out where the microfilm was now. Illya couldn't remember, and for some reason he thought calling in the flippant debt was in order, as though he had something that needed covering up. That was a concern, especially since there was no clear memory forthcoming.

"Hey Napoleon. You have need of my services, mate?" Mark grinned until he saw the worry lines in his superior's face. Something was not right, it seemed.

"Yes, Mark...we've still no sign of the microfilm. Illya has no memory of where he left it, and Thrush doesn't have it...obviously. They wouldn't have left Illya like that if they'd found it on him. Was there any indication, when you arrived, that they had what they wanted from him? Anything come up from your interrogation?" Napoleon hoped that something useful had been gained in questioning the Thrush prisoners.

"No, nothing was said that would indicate they have it. Sorry Napoleon. Our clean up crew searched the entire building and found nothing. We're at a dead end as well." His expression conveyed similar disappointment and concern at the state of information...or lack of it.

"Ok, Mark. Thanks. I'll let you know if I think of anything else." Nothing. Napoleon put his elbow on the desk and fit his chin into an open palm. "Where is it Illya?" He put the question into the air, not really expecting an answer.

Napoleon headed back to medical. He needed to think, and somehow observing his partner, even in his sleep, might help illuminate the mystery he had going. What had Illya said...?

"Not collect...he said recall." That was puzzling. What was it he needed to recall?

When he entered Illya's room, the lights were turned down low and the sleeping man had regained some of his color. As he peered more closely at his friend, he noticed a bruise on his forehead, nearly in the same spot as the one he himself had acquired after his encounter with that beam. "Where did you get that, my friend?" He hadn't noticed it earlier, but now he wondered if that was a clue of some sort. Maybe that's what Illya had referred to, not collecting the debt but the similarity...still, what good did that do?

Illya stirred from his sleep, opening the eye that wasn't swollen shut and looking out from under blond eyelashes.

"Did you get it?" The question seemed abrupt to Napoleon, since last he inquired, Illya didn't know where IT was.

"No, you haven't told me where it is. Do you remember now?" He studied the features of his friend, noting the deep set eyes and equally deep circles. The bruises over his right eye were hideous looking, as though it hurt. "I thought I...no, I didn't did I." Obtuse, to be sure.

"Illya, where is the film?" Frustration evident in his voice, Napoloen knew there was probably a time limit on this information. They needed to get to it before some Thrush backtracked enough to figure it out.

Illya was groggy, but he began to give a report on his activities after collecting the microfilm.

"I was on the bus when I spotted a Thrush. When it stopped to let some people off, I exited as well, heading for a building that was still under construction. It wasn't a wise move, looking back at it now. As they got closer, I ducked under a protrusion of beams that I thought would provide cover. Instead I knocked my head against one that was out of sight, and nearly lost consciousness. I slipped the microfilm inside of that beam and moved out, and that's when they caught me. I was still a little groggy, so they took me easily enough."

Napoleon was relieved that Illya remembered that much, but would he be able to retrace his steps and locate the film? Of course, Illya being Illya, he did remember eventually. After he got completely free of the sedatives and the Thrush drugs, he gave specific directions to the site, even tracing off the steps necessary to arrive at the hiding place for the microfilm.

"Is the film safely tucked away and ready for UNCLE to thwart the new plans?" Illya was relieved at the outcome so far. He still ached a little from the bump on his head and the bruises that were just beginning to fade. All in a day's work, but it hurt anyway.

"We have it and the powers that be are going over it with a fine tooth comb. They'll come up with something to upset the process of building a new Thrush site. Plus, it is another bit of evidence against Cook's Construction. They're going to have a little trouble getting new permits to build anything in this city."

Napoleon cocked his ahead a little and produced a smile aimed at his friend as he sipped a cup of tea, his features a little less strained than a few days earlier.

"Umm...are we done with the payback on bumps and beams...all of that business?" With Illya, one never knew for sure that one was out of danger of payback. Certainly, considering the past few days and his own bruised forehead, this game was due to be over.

"Napoleon, what payback? It was ever only a little joke. You have nothing to fear...honestly". Something in that last word made Napoleon shiver just a little. Illya could exact a price with absurd enjoyment. He did not believe it was over.

"What, exactly, do you want? I know it's not just a joke, and unfortunately for me, your bump was of the heroic type, even if it was rather clumsy. Mine, on the other hand, is still clumsy without benefit of heroic overtones. So, what is it that will get me off the hook?" Two pair of eyes met; cunning blue ones and slightly annoyed brown each holding forth as the answer awaited.

"Napoleon, I want nothing. It's true, I am satisfied that we are completely even, as it were. I bumped into a beam trying to escape Thrush, and you...bumped into one trying to escape a vacuous blonde. The dangers are equal, in my estimation."

That was it? The relief was palpable, considering how devious his friend could be when driven to it by any number of variables.

"Thank you. I am relieved and happy to know we have found a resolution. I know how you like to exact your debts out of my hide." Illya smiled; that slightly lopsided grin that he reserved for times of self-congratulation and...what else was there?

"What? What else are you thinking?" Napoleon knew, he just knew it had to be something else. "Well, if you must know...Elsie, the girl you were trying to avoid that day'... Napoleon expelled a frustrated gust of air… "She really wants to go out with you, and...well, she asked me to intervene. Sort of play matchmaker. She's bold, that one. I'd watch out if I were you".

"And why should I do this?" Napoleon felt trapped, but knew there must be something else that the Russian hadn't mentioned.

"If you must know, a security camera caught you in the act of getting brained by by that big pipe. Elsie has seen the tape. She mentioned it to me...casually. I think you ought to take her out and treat her nice. She said she will broadcast it otherwise". He felt a twinge of sympathy for his partner, knowing how much he dreaded a tarnished image, especially at the hands of a spiteful woman. "I warned you it wasn't worth the little white lie you told."

"Alright, I guess I can stand one evening with her. She is attractive, at least. Who delivers the good news, you or me?" Illya raised an eyebrow before answering. He really did hate doing this to his friend.

"You can carry on from here on out. I was merely the messenger. And, Napoleon, I am sorry. It was not my intention to hold you to anything'...He meant that. A woman who would stoop to this behavior wouldn't last long in his partner's estimation. Nor would she get a repeat offer.

"Oh well, 'ours is not to reason why?'" The unruffled CEA would treat this as he would any other foray into enemy territory; grace and charm were always on tap.

"Yes, merely not to bat an eye". He winked at the mangled reference, but knew his friend would survive to date again.

Later that day Illya was released from medical in the same breath as being told to report to work the following morning. Afterwards he took his healing body home and opened a chilled bottle of vodka, opened up one of his not so boring science journals, and later drifted off to sleep on the couch before stumbling to his bed in the early morning hours.

When he got to headquarters the next day, he was informed that several security tapes were missing from a certain day, of a certain lower level computer room. Add to that, one of the secretaries had been fired; it seemed she had been pilfering through files and tapes and been caught red handed trying to blackmail several section two agents. Thankfully, it didn't appear anything important was on the missing tape, but the woman's ousting was history and her replacement already at her desk.

"Napoleon, were you aware...?" He didn't need to finish the question. The look on his friend's face confirmed his suspicions. He had the missing tape, and had ratted out the girl in question. She had done this before, he discovered that after quizzing some other agents.

"She isn't UNCLE material, Illya. It's one thing for us to engage in our little games, but from her or anyone else...it shouldn't be tolerated." And with that, the subject was closed and never again discussed.

Both men soon had their foreheads back as clear and unblemished as before; blond hair falling loosely over one, brown hair immaculately coiffed and combed back from the other. UNCLE had it's microfilm and valuable information, and, as many would soon learn, The Enquirer had a new reporter named Elsie.


End file.
